Uncomfortable Exchanges Prompted Solely By Ethnic Disparity

My daughter Alice, a sweet but rambunctious toddler, was having a timeout in one of the vinyl seats, occasioned by her urge to run away from me in the store. I kept one eye on Alice and the other on the pharmacist filling my prescription. The waiting area was empty except for us and a pleasant-looking, fortysomething man.

Predictably, the questions started. "Is she adopted? Where's she from? How long have you had her? Was it really expensive to adopt her? Isn't it a shame how the Chinese just throw away their girls?"

On and on the interrogation rolled, undeterred by my terseness. The man seemed completely unaware that he was not only intruding on a family disciplinary situation but also probing into parts of our lives that we have every right to keep private. There wasn't time for a full-blown explanation of the intense social and economic pressures that cause some Chinese birth parents to abandon their children. How does one deal with a person whose idea of small talk is telling a 2-year-old that she was "thrown away?"

Mercifully, the pharmacist called me to the counter. As I completed my transaction, I kicked myself for even answering the man. A person with a legitimate need for information about international adoption--the process by which our family was formed--deserved more than I could give in two minutes. A person who was simply indulging his curiosity deserved much less.

November is National Adoption Awareness Month. As Baby Boomers age and fertility issues loom, international adoption is becoming an increasingly common way of building a family. Last year, more than 13,000 children from outside the U.S. came to America by way of adoption. About 60 percent of these children were people of color and most were adopted by white parents. Families formed through transracial adoption, whether international or domestic, are naturally conspicuous.

Most people who adopt across ethnic boundaries love to talk about it, given appropriate circumstances. Our children are cherished; they have filled our hearts with joy. We are determined to help them grow into emotionally healthy adults despite the psychological issues that often arise when children are separated from their genetic relatives and their cultural roots..

We try to smooth their bumpy road. We teach our kids about adoption; we attend playgroups where they can meet other families formed through adoption. We advocate for our children in schools where teachers don't always understand the anxiety provoked by something as mundane as a "family tree" assignment. We struggle to locate resources and role models that will help our children balance their birth cultures with their American lives.

Despite our best efforts, the incessant questions from strangers chip away at our foundations. At home, we're telling our children that adoption is a special way of creating a family, and that their birth cultures are something to embrace and celebrate. Meanwhile, repeated encounters with people like the man in the pharmacy send them a different message. The message is that our children are peculiar; that their families are not normal; that the people whose DNA they share are barbaric. And often, that the kids are "lucky" to be adopted by "would-be saints" who happen to be their parents.

These negative messages are usually (though not always) unintentional. People have an instinct for categorization; when they see situations that don't fit the norm, they feel driven to comment. Most of the individual exchanges are harmless. But the cumulative effect is to undermine the legitimacy of our families. My husband and I are adults, and we knew that our decision to adopt transracially would mean kissing our cozy anonymity goodbye. But our daughter never volunteered for this ride. And people often speak to us as if our child is deaf--as if she does not hear and internalize conversation that go on around her.

So I'm printing up business cards with contact information for our adoption agency and several good Internet sites.

The next stranger who plies me with private questions in a public place is going to get one, with the comment, "Oh, if you're interested in adoption, here are some excellent resources." When Alice is old enough to speak for herself, we'll discuss whether she wants to handle inquisitive strangers or prefers us to run interference. And we'll begin to teach her ways to respond truthfully without feeling compelled to give up information that belongs to her alone.

Meanwhile, don't be surprised if you meet me in the check-out line and I politely decline to recite our complete family history when you ask, "Is she adopted?" Alice was adopted, once upon a time. But now she is simply my child and our hearts are knit as tightly as any parent's and child's can be. Alice is not a public exhibit. She deserves to be protected from adult questions that subtly invalidate her family's right to exist.